


Tonight, You Belong To Me

by Etherthires



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dubious Consent, F/M, Feminine pronouns, Gore, Horror, Masks, One Shot, POV Second Person, Survival Horror, Torture, brahms stabs you and is very violent, we'll call it a tantrum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27571786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etherthires/pseuds/Etherthires
Summary: Brahms finds a new nanny and is prepared to do anything to keep her from leaving.Anything.Note ✎:  This is honestly just Brahms being a slasher and you're the victim, so sorta horrorporn-esc. Possessive, unhinged Brahms is hot, what can I say? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Relationships: Brahms Heelshire/Original Female Character(s), Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Brahms Heelshire/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	Tonight, You Belong To Me

**Author's Note:**

> This MIGHT become a multi-chapter work, we'll see, but for now I'm only publishing this first part. It might get more sexual if I do post more though, so warning for dub-con/psychological abuse/stockholm syndrome IF that happens.  
> Tbh I'm sorta surprised I even managed to write this much tho👌 pretty happy I finished something at least. Nonetheless, I hope you guys enjoy!

_A doll. He was just supposed to be a doll._

If only you hadn’t read that godforsaken ad. If only you weren’t looking for a job. If only you had ran back when you first noticed something off about the mansion and _god, oh god_ , **_that cracked doll.  
_ ** Everything added up now. From the lack of parental guardians at the estate, to the note left by the apparent parental guardians “in a rush” to leave the accursed doll behind. It was all the work of this _thing_ you could only assume was supposed to be the _real_ Brahms. You had heard the pub talk... you knew of the heartbroken parents of the child who had died at eight years old and kept a creepy porcelain doll in his place. You had even heard the story of Brahms and Emily. So basically—you _did your research before coming here_.

But there you were, on the floor... _bleeding,_ a 6’3” masked man towering over you with a beady gaze. It was terrifying, truthfully—especially considering you were alone in this mansion with only this _thing_ you so desperately wanted to call a man. But between the child-like tone and the fact that it had recently emerged from the _wall_ , it was hard to consider it even human. After all, you’d originally thought it had only been a haunted _doll_ —and look where that got you.

It had gotten you stabbed; in multiple places, all over your legs. You couldn’t run. You couldn’t hide—And this _thing_ just stood above you, breathing _your_ name, covered in _your_ blood.

It was almost humorous, you came here entirely _willing_ to take care of the doll of the dead child, you were even fascinated by it. Fascinated with the local legends behind it—and in turn, that fascination had partially led you here.  
Which meant you even went as far as making an attempt to follow the rules laid out alongside the note which you had originally thought to be from the Heelshires, all from day one. You might not have been particularly _good_ at following said rules, considering Mrs. Heelshire wasn’t there to guide you... but you made an _attempt_ , which already should have scored you points with whatever evil spirit was undoubtedly haunting that doll. Or so you thought at the time... but _apparently_ that wasn’t enough.

The saddest part? It wasn’t even your fault.

After the whole “Greta” incident, Brahms was alone. He needed a new nanny… but this time she couldn’t _leave_ him. Not like Greta did. Not like his parents did. So he made a plan, a plan so childish yet perfect that even he found himself astonished with how genius it was. One might blame the many works of literature read to him by his mother, others might say that he was naturally always that smart.  
Either way, he put an ad in the paper and _waited._ Obviously, a few undesirable older women and even a few _men_ had come to visit about the offer—but all he had to do was keep the door locked and eventually they would leave.

Then _you_ showed up... and everything was in its right place. The plan had worked and finally the _click_ of the mansion door unlocking was heard the moment you stepped from the taxi. And you walked inside! Oh, did Brahms just _adore_ the sound of your voice calling out for his long-dead parents... he almost dreaded the moment it stopped to pick up his hand-written note; especially considering this was the moment of truth. If you didn’t find the note to be believable, you could flee now and take the taxi back to wherever you called home. 

_But you didn’t!_ You walked out, paid the driver, and walked back in with a smile, immediately showering the doll in affection, speaking to it as if it were one of your own. 

So of course, it didn’t take long before Brahms found himself possessive. It didn’t matter if you followed the rules or not, he was going to make sure you _knew_ you were being watched—whether you believed it was by a human or a poltergeist, well… that was entirely up to you.

What transpired between then and now, it was easy to assume. Brahms played his childish games; stealing your clothing, locking and unlocking doors throughout the estate, and at some point, he even left an apple outside your door. All of which seemed hair-raising at the time… but in retrospect, this all seemed like child’s play in comparison to the calamity that would soon befall you. After all, the childish games weren’t _all_ Brahms had planned… behind those walls, he was waiting to strike. Not because you had done anything wrong. As a matter of fact, you had done an excellent job at following the rules in comparison to Greta—but that was just _it. You were too perfect._ And you couldn’t leave now… or ever. So Brahms went out of his way to prepare. 

The result? You, bleeding out on the kitchen floor; all because you were getting ready to take a walk around the estate after having woken up from a nightmare. Poor Brahms didn’t know better… from his point of view, he just saw you getting out of bed and attempting to sneakily make your way out the door—so _of course_ he had to intervene! _Of course_ you were planning on abandoning him! Just like Greta, just like his _damn parents_ —! The idea made him impulsive, neurotic even…  
So just as you were about to touch that doorknob, a loud _creak_ was heard from the other side of the room; and despite the fact that you had guessed it was no more than the childish spirit messing with you at this grim hour… you felt a tinge of fear. Your hand hovered over the doorknob for another long moment, and while your brain begged for you to flee the house _now_ ; you just stood there—frozen. Even as a tall shadow whispering _your_ name, came into view.

 ** _“You almost left me alone… You were going to break one of the rules…”_**

He spoke in that eerie, child-like tone. You had heard it before—on nights when the “spirit” had been feeling especially playful. But now it was here in front of you, and that disembodied voice had a body to it.   
You found yourself tensing the more the figure made its way into your sight, and at some point, you couldn’t help but notice something in its hand. A knife perhaps? Truthfully, it was hard to make out in such harsh lighting… but you certainly knew it was _sharp._ Which soon began your downfall.

You panicked, running to one of the many kitchen drawers in a desperate attempt to find _something_ to protect yourself—and of course, the action was mostly in vain. All you could find were simple steak knives for the time being, especially considering you were half-focused on the figure as it grew closer. 

"S-Stay back…!” 

You whimpered, holding the steak knife out in front of your body as the figure began to back you into a corner. A part of you wished you had opened the kitchen door when you still could… but even then, you would have nowhere to run. The Heelshire home was in the middle of nowhere, and you had no car. You would be out all night wandering, _freezing_ … it was hard to consider that a better fate.

**_"Why were you going to leave me, (Y/N)? Why…?”_ **

The voice drew closer, and in its tone you couldn’t help but notice a tinge of melancholy… not that it made much of a difference, but it felt like something to note. Perhaps if you couldn’t win this fight, playing with this _thing’s_ feelings might be a better alternative. 

“I w-was j-just going to take a walk! I couldn't sleep!”

Even as your voice found itself saturated in panic, it was easy to consider your tone lower than the figure’s.

**_“LIAR.”_ **

His boyish tone cracked at this word, and for a moment, you believed you could almost hear his voice… his _real_ voice. Nonetheless, it frightened you, just as the situation would frighten most—and a sob left your lips.

“I’m _not lying_ … P-Please don’t h-hurt me…” 

You cried and cried, doing your best to not let tears block your vision in the already-dark kitchen while still remaining in that defensive pose. It was hard, especially considering you could feel your limbs weaken at the overall uneasiness. You wanted to run… your instincts _begged_ you to run but that goddamn figure was in the way.

Then suddenly… you noticed something. A mask upon the figure’s face—one that looked all too familiar, one that appeared identical to that _doll’s_ face.

This figure was Brahms. The real Brahms. 

And that realization triggered your _real_ fight or flight response. Your brain had had enough sitting around and _waiting_ to be hunted, it needed to _do_ something; so instead of standing by for him to make a move— _you_ made an attempt to break past the doll-man. But again, your bold efforts were to no avail.

It was an ill-fated attempt, doomed from the start. After all, he was 6’3” and knew his home better than the back of his own hand, you had a disadvantage the moment you decided to stand your ground. His hand rushed to grip your arm, immediately throwing off your balance during the attempt to pass him, forcing you to tumble to the ground. To make matters worse, the steak knife had fallen from your hands and slid across the kitchen tile, just barely out of reach for your awkward arms.

A sob once again left your lips. You didn’t want to turn around, but those piercing eyes gazing into the back of your head were practically _begging_ you to offer that same treatment back. You let out a choked breath… and slowly, _painfully_ slow, you turned your head to glance behind you.   
It was hard to tell if the sight was _better_ or _worse_ than what you expected—but what you _did_ know was that he had dropped to his knees, his body still gradually creeping towards you; only the sounds of your sobbing and his heavy breath filling the air.

“I won’t hurt you if you don’t leave…” 

His childish voice cracked once again as a hand reluctantly moved to your ankle. His hands were coarse, as one would expect from a man living in the walls for twenty years—but his grip wasn’t harsh. He really didn’t want to hurt you it seemed… at least not for now. 

Nonetheless, your body reacted in the most unfavorable way possible—it twitched, making it appear as though you were trying to escape his grip. His gaze sharpened,  
And before you had time to beg or scream, a knife came flying down into your calf. It didn’t stop there, either. Impulsively, Brahms grabbed the steak knife that was now more within his reach than it was yours, and he buried that into the flesh of your other calf. 

A blood-curdling scream broke past your lips from the overwhelming pain, your hands involuntarily clawing at the kitchen floor in a desperate attempt to get away. But Brahms couldn’t have that—he didn’t even want you _trying_ to escape. You were _his_ plaything… _his_ nanny. You belonged to _him…_ and he had to make sure you knew that. 

**_“You’re not going anywhere… I love you, can’t you see that? I love you, (Y/N)...”_ **

That adolescent voice was more chilling than ever. With every word he spoke, with every breath he took, your body tensed. Perhaps if your first meeting wasn’t him cornering you in the kitchen with a knife in hand, you would’ve been willing to give him a chance… but now, _now_ you just wanted to die and get it over with. You were in pain, complete and utter pain, and you were pretty sure there was more to come. And so… you remained quiet in fear of saying something wrong, only sobs and pained moans taking up the awkward silence that drifted between you two.

Until you felt him shift, a crass hand moving to the handle of the steak knife and pulling it from the fresh wound. As expected, you winced and another louder cry filled the air before he made one more forceful lunge into your calf. Now you were _really_ bleeding out, the crimson from the fresh wound pouring like a fountain—at least, from your perspective. In all reality, Brahms was smart enough not to stab any arteries. He just wanted you not to _leave_ , for you to learn your lesson… he didn’t want to kill you! And if he had to study a few of his father’s old medical journals to prepare himself, so be it. At least you wouldn’t be dead… _right?_

**“Please say something. It’s impolite not to speak when someone’s talking to you… And you’re making me** **_very upset._** **”**

His words only caused more cries to erupt from your throat. It took you a moment to speak, as the paralyzing pain in your legs was what mostly filled your mind for the moment… but eventually, you managed.

“Brahms… I-I’m sorry. I-I promise I wasn’t trying to leave… I-I really just wanted to take a walk because I couldn’t _sleep._ I-I’m so… _so_ sorry.” 

You choked and choked, just wanting the piercing pain in your legs to _stop,_ even for a moment.

“Brahms sweetie… I think I need a _doctor_. I-I’m bleeding a lot. Y-You might’ve hit an artery… I-I could _die_ , Brahms.”

Brahms’ body shifted again, though this time around, he didn’t seem to be going for the handle of either of the knives. Instead, he was inspecting your leg, gazing at the wounds closely and surprisingly carefully. It hurt, especially when he lifted your calves for proper inspection… but at _least_ it wasn’t another stab. 

“Don’t be silly, (Y/N). Everyone bleeds… you just need to be more careful! You can clean it up later.” 

He giggled, that eerie tone of his remaining the same no matter how much the situation changed, no matter how much you bled. You could only weep in response, putting your hands into your face and bawling away on the kitchen floor. You would soon hear Brahms shifting around you, and while there was a part of you that found yourself tempted to look up to see what he was doing—for the moment, you couldn’t help but just sit and cry.

Then suddenly, you felt him. He was now kneeling right before you, hovering over you, whispering your name. You looked up at him with red, puffy eyes, though he only tilted his head in reply. For a brief moment, you thought you had seen his own eyes go watery beneath the mask… but you brushed off the idea soon after. It wasn’t likely that this man felt empathy, and even if he _was_ crying, it probably would’ve been more so for his own selfish reasonings rather than because he _actually_ felt sorry. 

“I’m sorry… I-I shouldn’t have hurt you. I… promise to be good.”

The doll-masked man muttered, seemingly ashamed of his previous actions. You found yourself sighing at his words, your breath still coming out in brief chokes.

“I can’t take care of you right now, Brahms… I couldn’t even stand if I wanted to. Y-You got your wish, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Your words seemed to have _stung_ , even if you were the one who had voiced them. But you hadn’t realized until just then that you really _weren’t_ going anywhere. You were going to be stuck with Brahms until you healed and found a way to escape—or until he trusted you enough to leave—whichever might happen first, and neither were anytime soon. Your head fell back into your hands and once again, you found yourself choking on sobs. You had just wanted to go on a walk…   
Your thoughts were soon interrupted when you felt his body shift closer to you, he seemed to be sniffing your hair through the mask, and truthfully, he was uncomfortably close. You would’ve scolded him to stop, but found yourself once again silent, only able to cry...

Until you felt a warm breath against your ear. Brahms’ voice _finally_ changed from that dreadful childish tone to something you could only assume was his natural voice.

_“I’ll take care of you then… as a proper apology. I’m sorry, (Y/N)... I just can’t let you leave me… I’m sorry…”_

He trailed off before hesitantly taking you into his arms, seemingly trying to be a gentleman as he repeated apologies, being extra careful with the two knives still in your calves. He would have to take those out when he could properly stitch you up, after all. Right now, he just wanted to get you comfortable, somewhere that _wasn’t_ the blood-soaked tile on the kitchen floor.

As he placed you on your usual bed, it didn’t take long for you to pass out, even with the deep, pulsing wounds at your legs. It was late, and all this crying, screaming, and begging was enough to knock most people out, especially with the added lightheadedness caused by the blood loss. Though, one thought relayed through your mind as you drifted unconscious.

I just wanted to go on a walk.

_"I just wanted to go on a walk..."_


End file.
